by June Francis
‘If we are caught, ay.’ His voice suddenly sounded grim. ‘I’m almost sure he’s heading for a cave in the hills not far from Athy.’
‘A cave! For what purpose?’
‘It’s a spot where all the outcasts gather; those who have broken either English or Irish law. After Dermot was captured, I kept a watch on Sil, because I believed he might have betrayed our cousin. He knew that Dermot had the strength and position to foil his ambitions to lead our clan back into the past. Not that some of the laws and customs were not wise and good — they were, and we adhere to some still — but the old religion with its human sacrifice — no!’ he declared vehemently.
Constance felt ice trickle down her spine. ‘Surely such rites do not still take place?’ she asked huskily.
‘One would like to think that they didn’t, but in the dense oak groves and the mountains, who can tell? I’ve seen bones ...’ His voice tailed off.
‘How — How did you know they weren’t animal bones?’
‘I’ve seen bones like those in a barrow. There’s one only a short distance from ... where my foster-sisters dwell.’
Constance experienced a fearful unreality — it seemed terrible to have a pagan burial site so near to a home. ‘Why did you go inside? Surely spirits must haunt such a place?’
‘A dare, it was.’ His voice sank deliberately. ‘And once inside, I wished I hadn’t gone — so dark and cold — not the chill of a misty night but that of death’s breath. I felt as though icy hands were laid on the back of my neck.’ The shiver that raced through Constance made Niall smile, and his fingers tightened about hers. ‘But then I said to myself: Why should I fear the spirits of my ancestors? The gospel had not been brought to them, so they died in ignorance, not deliberate sin — and most likely their souls rest in some other place — uneasy though they may be — even so, I shot out of there as soon as I could because I thought I heard a keening noise.’
‘Don’t — tell me any more,’ she whispered, her fingers twisting convulsively about his, before she realised what she was doing and pulled her hand away.
‘I won’t, if it frightens you,’ he said meekly.
‘I’m not frightened,’ she replied sharply. ‘But — but sound carries at night. And, besides, you should be telling me which way to go, because I think we’ve lost Sil.’
Niall gave her instructions and Maeve cantered on, fresh after a day’s rest. She bore her double burden well. Constance wondered what they would do when they came to the cave. Would they be able to get close enough to discover if Sil went there because it had some connection with the plot to kill the king? Why was Brandon involved in such a plot? Could it just be that he was a pawn in the hands of his master, the Earl of March? That Richard was unpopular with many, she knew. In the past, he had been known to behave unreasonably, committing men to the block without trial, then recanting and pardoning them, yet she had always had some sympathy and admiration for him.
King at ten, Richard’s seat on the throne had always been precarious while behind it stood his uncles, Lancaster, York and Gloucester. In the years that had seen him struggling to manhood, it had been Gloucester, the youngest of the uncles, who had proved the greatest threat in his attempt to gain the reins of power for himself. It was rumoured that there had been a time when Gloucester had sought to depose Richard, and only the opposition of Derby, Lancaster’s son, and a couple of others, had circumvented so crude an usurpation.
If Richard were to be killed here in Ireland, would Gloucester, Derby and Lancaster be prepared to sit back and allow the Earl of March to mount the throne? What of Richard’s plans for a marriage that would extend the truce with France? What of England? What about her own family? Civil war could tear her country apart, and England could become an easy target for the Scots on her northern borders and the ships that harried her southern coast. She would have to do something to warn the king — go to Kilkenny, if necessary. But first, the more she could learn about Sil’s plot, the more reason the king would have to believe her.
Niall’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘Not far now, and you’ll stay with Maeve while I venture closer.’
‘But I want to see what is going on,’ she whispered, doubting that he would tell her what he overheard — that was, if he managed to get close enough to hear anything.
‘Well, you can’t,’ he said firmly. ‘Stop here.’ Constance brought Maeve to a halt, prepared to argue. ‘You’ll stay in the trees, and if there’s any sign or sound of trouble, you mount Maeve and gallop back to Desmond.’
‘That’s foolish! I’d lose myself,’ she whispered impatiently.
‘Lose yourself then.’ Niall dismounted. ‘Just as long as you don’t allow Sil or any of his cut-throats to find you.’ He frowned, as he looked up at her.
‘But what if they catch you?’ she demanded, ignoring his hand, and sliding to the ground herself.
He stroked his moustache. His face was shadowed by the trees, and she could not read his expression. ‘You worry about yourself. If you have to run, it will be too late for me; and you could tell Kathleen and Brigid about my fate. I’m sure you’d find pleasure in telling them that I was dead!’
‘I don’t know why you should thinkthat, Master O’More,’ she said, ‘but if it is so dangerous — perhaps you should not go any closer. Let us forget about discovering what Sil is about, and go back. We’ll still be in time for the hawking tomorrow.’
‘Go back — just because there’s a risk? I’ve escaped from more dangerous places than this.’
Before she could say any more, he melted into the shadows, his mantle swirling about his ankles. ‘Fool,’ she said in a low voice, ‘if you think that I’m going to wait here meekly for your return.’ Even so, she did wait for a short time before following in his wake up the hill. She kept to the shadows cast by boulders and trees until she could see the mouth of the cave lit by flickering flames. She could hear the rumble of voices and the occasional laugh, but there was no sign of Niall or any other human being.
Carefully she crept closer, crouching low. The last few yards she travelled on her stomach, until she was over a lip of rock and inside the entrance. She stayed there a moment, conscious of the racing of her heart. The way down into the cave was beneath her. Fear kept her motionless as she strained to hear what was being said. She caught the melodious tones of Sil’s voice, and even from that distance she experienced the power of the spell he wove. Then she realised that he was speaking in Irish, and her spirits sank. What a foolshe was not to have thought of that!
Suddenly there was a shout in the cave below, and a babble of voices sent her scrambling into a dark corner. The next moment a man came running up a narrow slope, his mantle flying behind him like a giant bat. He was out and over the lip of rock within seconds, the moonlight glinting on his tawny hair. Relieved, Constance rose, ready to follow, just as another man burst into the open. He was huge! At first he did not see her, then some flicker of movement on her part caused him to whirl, and he gave a roar as he came towards her.
Constance’s mouth went dry, and the cry for help came out as a croak. Even so, it made Niall brake on the hill and turn. He could see her, and the unshaven hairy mountain of a man reaching for her. He cursed under his breath, and raced up the hill, dragging the axe from his girdle. One throw he would have, if he was lucky, and no other men appeared. He leaped the lip of rock, landing on both feet. His eyes lined up his target, and he prayed that Constance would not move. The axe went flying from his hand.
Constance’s arms attempted to ward off the crumpling figure, but his weight proved too much and she toppled backwards with his body on top of her. Niall was there in a trice, to roll the man away. The axe had bitten deep into his neck, and without wiping the blade, he thrust it into his girdle. Then he pulled her to her feet and pushed her over the rocky lip and down the hill.
Shouts sounded as they entered the trees. He bundled her on to the mare before dragging himself up behind. Constance wanted to
thank him, but the words would not come, and, besides, she could feel his fury as a tangible beast between them.
Because she did not speak, Niall kept silent, his anger fermenting inside him. The fear he had experienced when he had seen her struggling with the man was still with him, and he did not like feeling in such a way about any woman. Its hold almost suffocated him.
They still had not spoken when the walls of Kilkea Castle came in sight. Then Niall told Constance to stop before the gap in the wall. She thought it was because the mare was tired, and he did not wish to burden Maeve with his weight during the jump. She would have dismounted herself, but he stilled her with a rough hand.
‘No!’ he rapped. ‘You go on.’ The lines about his nose and mouth were taut. ‘A woman who can’t obey is nothing but trouble! Good night to you, Mistress de Wensley.’ He turned on his heel before she could speak, and strode off into the night.
For a moment, Constance was too stunned to move or think, then her temper rose. How dared he speak to her like that! He was not her husband or master to expect her to do everything he said! So what did she care if she never saw the man again! All the better! Aware of the guards on the other side of the wall, she turned Maeve away from the sight of Niall O’More, determined to banish all thought of him from her mind. She had more important matters to concern her; her king had to be warned, and only she could do the warning! Tomorrow morning she would go to Kilkenny. She set her horse to the gap, and cleared it with inches to spare.
A couple of guards ran after her. They were not those who had watched her and Niall depart, but fortunately, on close inspection, one of them remembering seeing her earlier in the day. Or was it now yesterday? She yawned, as one escorted her to the stables. ‘You can leave me here,’ she said in French. ‘I shall not disturb the people in the castle, but sleep here.’
The guard shrugged. There was no accounting for the way women behaved, especially where affairs of the heart were concerned. Lovers’ tiff, no doubt about it, the way Niall O’More had marched off like that! High born or low born, the women all seemed to like him. Now where could he have been with this one? Away from the prying eyes of the Englishman she had come with, most probably; for had he not been asking about her, and been in a fury when told she had gone with Niall O’More? He shook his head and went back to his post.
Constance had thought she would have to lie awake as she curled up in some straw, but she was so tired that no sooner had she closed her eyes, than she fell asleep. She was woken by some grooms entering the stables, who stared at her in astonishment.
She smiled brightly. ‘Good morning.’ She brushed away some wisps of straw as she scrambled to her feet, seeing no need to explain why she was there. ‘Are they up and about inside the castle now?’
One, who had a wart on his nose, nodded dumbly, while another said, ‘Ay, mistress, and wondering where you’ve been.’
‘Oh, there was no need for them to worry about me. I’ll go and change my clothes.’ Again she smiled. ‘Good day to you.’ With a wave of the hand, she sauntered out into a sunny day that held no promise of seeing Niall O’More again, and almost into the arms of Master Brandon.
He seized hold of her, and his face held an ugly expression, the tip of his long nose seeming to quiver. ‘One of the guards said that you went with O’More. Are you a fool? Where did he take you?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ She stared at him disdainfully. ‘Will you be so good as to stop hurting my arm?’
He released her reluctantly. ‘I — did not mean to hurt you.’ His smile was forced. ‘But I have been worried about you, and hearing that you left with O’More, I feared you had come to some harm.’
She raised dark eyebrows. ‘You really had no need to worry. Master O’More wished to explain to me in more detail his reasons for holding my kinsman hostage, and to reassure me as to his safety.’
‘So you went alone with him at night outside the castle?’ Brandon responded sarcastically.
Constance lowered her eyes and toyed with her fingers. ‘I have always had a yearning to ride in the moonlight — and Master O’More can be very persuasive.’
‘You disappoint me, Mistress Constance. It is obvious that you need the guidance of a good man. He is a rogue.’
‘Oh, no doubt about it, Master Brandon.’ She lifted her head and smiled guilelessly at him. ‘But I so much wanted someone to speed Robin’s release that I allowed myself to be persuaded. But it appears that not even the earl can do anything, so I have decided to return to Naas and await news of Robin there. That is, if His Grace would be so kind as to provide me with an escort. After the hawking, I shall ask him about it. You, I believe, are going on to Kilkenny?’
He grunted approval, and ventured to take her hand. ‘Maybe, after my business in Kilkenny is finished, I can come and see you in Naas?’ His green eyes were sharp as he raised her hand to his lips.
She concealed her distaste behind another smile. ‘It will be a pleasure to see you again, but now, if you don’t mind’ she withdrew her hand, ‘— I really must change my clothes.’
He bowed, and she inclined her head before walking quickly away. As soon as she had changed, her intention was to keep a sharp watch on Master Brandon, and to follow him all the way to Kilkenny.
*
The falcon soared skywards, and all heads turned to follow its flight, hands quickly shielding eyes from the sun. For a second, Constance admired the bird’s graceful flight before tugging on the reins and moving out of the shadow of the trees. If she delayed any longer, Master Brandon would be lost to her. Still she lingered, part of her reluctant to leave the security of the gathering, while another little part wondered about Niall O’More’s whereabouts.
The Earl of Desmond had appeared to find it not at all surprising that he should leave in the way he had, and to consider it possible that he would return in a like manner. He asked no questions about her reasons for having gone with Niall outside his castle walls, and she had supplied none, still uncertain where the earl’s loyalties lay. She had only herself to rely on, and somehow she had to convince King Richard that there was a plot against his life. She could not live with herself if she did nothing.
She came to the road, and went in the reverse direction to that she had come with Brandon the day before. Was it only yesterday? It seemed an age. Already he was almost out of sight, and she urged her mare on, determined not to dwell on what had happened last night, but rather on what might lie ahead when she met the king. She could not dare to suggest that the Earl of March might be involved in the plot against his life, but surely he would draw his own conclusions. The money to pay his assassins must have come from someone with more possessions than Master Brandon.
Clouds were banking on the horizon. Would it rain later? Sorcha had told her that Kilkenny was but about fifteen miles or so away. The road had taken a twist, and Brandon was lost to sight. An anxious frown knitted her brow, and she urged Maeve on. Suddenly she became aware of the sound of hoofbeats, and saw a rider approaching her across the fields. So far she had seen few people, and the sight of the lone horseman unnerved her. Already she was apprehensive because she was alone. She gave Maeve her head, hoping to outride him. For a while it seemed she would keep her lead, until she realised that he was coming towards the road at an angle and would reach it a little ahead of her, unless she quickened her pace even more. She whispered into her mare’s ear and dug in her heels. Maeve’s stride lengthened.
Constance forgot everything but the rush of the wind and the rhythm of her body in harmony with that of the mare, until she heard her name being called. She spared a glance over her shoulder, and saw that the rider was closer than she had dreamed possible, and that it was Niall O’More. Her nerves danced.
‘You’ll break your neck if you don’t slow down!’ he shouted.
‘I don’t intend to fall!’ she called back, even as she wondered how he had known where to find her.
Maeve passed the place where Constance had es
timated he would come on to the road. Some perverse spirit caused her a sudden heady joy at the thought of battling with him, and winning. Then she glanced behind again, and he was not far away. His face was set in grim lines that suddenly scared her. After that, she knew suddenly that he would catch up. Her whole body was beginning to ache unbearably, and slowly, inexorably, he was beginning to overtake her. Now he was alongside, inching past, and then she realised that to continue was pointless.
He came to a halt a short distance ahead by the time she had slowed Maeve to a walk. He dismounted and came over, and without speaking, seized hold of her and dragged her down.
‘Let me go!’ She struggled, attempting to free her wrist from his constricting hold.
‘By all the saints, I won’t,’ he said in a seething voice. ‘Look at Maeve! You should never have ridden her so hard.’ He shook her violently.
‘It’s none of your business what I choose to do,’ she declared angrily. ‘She’s my mare!’
‘It is my business when you speak about breeding horses. You need a lesson on how to treat animals.’
‘No, I don’t!’ She glared at him.
He drew in a harsh breath and swung her round.
‘What are you doing?’ Her voice rose, and she fought him as he forced her down and across his knee. A scream escaped her as his hand came down over her squirming buttocks. The second time, it hurt!
‘You devil!’ she yelled, trying to push herself up off his leg. His hand descended again, and she screamed again, then pinched his thigh hard, and he pushed her off his knee.
For a second she lay spread-eagled on the ground, so furious that she could not move. Then she hoisted herself up and turned to face him. He still knelt, rubbing his thigh. She flew at him and pushed him, catching him off balance. He sprawled on the earth, anger still in his expression.
‘How dare you hit me!’ she raged. ‘How dare you even touch me! I swore after my husband was killed that never again would I suffer as I did at his hands. Never! Never!’ Tears started in her eyes, and swiftly she strode past him to her mare.